Drugs not hugs
OK, just saw the film Knocked Up. Obviously, I approached the experience in the very contemporary way of waiting for the flick to come out on DVD. I was tempted to see it in theaters, but then, it seemed like the kind of movie that didn’t have that you-just-gotta-see-it-on-the-big-screen imperative dangling from itself. And yeah, there were some good laffs in it, although I wouldn’t rank it up there in the all-time comedy zone with Raising Arizona or Dr. Strangelove. Beats the crap out of Meet the Fockers, though.
Anyway, seers of this flick will remember the birth scene, where Katherine Heigl (Allison), having originally insisted on a natural, drug-free delivery, changes her mind after a few savage contractions and begins to beg for the epidural. Only then the doctors tell her sorry, it’s too late for that—you gotta go through with the natural route.
That scene took me straight back to the day my daughter checked out of the Momma Marriott. Same exact thing happened in our delivery room. Jeri wanted to go natural and I was playing along with it, because, you know, really, what the heck did I know about any of this stuff? She wanted to go natural right up until, oh, about contraction number two. At that point, she shrieked, without much hesitation or reservation at all, “OK, somebody give me the bleeping epidural!!!! Now, you bleepers!!!! Do you hear me?!?! NOW!!!!!!!”
The doctor did his best and in record time, but the drugs, when they kicked in, only numbed the left side of her body. So she got the 50 percent treatment, and that was that. Too bad, bitch, time to suck it up and push. Get into it—go ahead and scream at us with your heartfelt expletives and flying spittle!
My point is simply this—girls, I know some of you are gonna have a baby or two before you’re done. Try as I might to convince you of the wonderfulness of the childless existence (some of the happiest couples I know are just that), I know some of you are truly dead-set on having a baby or two. OK, fine. Go ahead, bring a brand new human into a world only to have him or her disappear into an apocalyptic Mayan hyper-dimensional vaporlock in the year 2012. Super. It’s your call. But here is some rock-solid advice for all mommies-to-be. Plan on the epidural. Have the epidural. Embrace the epidural. Love the epidural. Burn candles in appreciation of the inventors of the epidural.
Why the hell are so many women hung up on giving birth as if they were 16th century French peasants? We have drugs! Drugs that allow you to give birth without feeling like you’re pulling your lower lip over the top of your skull! I mean, you think Yvette the Parisian back in 1587 would have passed up that jumbo epidural?